burning down
by thetardisissherlocked
Summary: The aftermath of an Emma vs. Zelena showdown. 3B speculation from April 2014.


Emma can feel it the moment she breaks the spell, the magic from Zelena's pendant crackling and arcing across her skin in sharp pinpricks. Every inch of her burns, the heat sinking down through her muscles and settling heavily in her blood as she lowers her hands. The weight of the gazes of the townspeople behind her, of the relief radiating in waves from her family (and isn't that still a surprise, her family, even after all of this time), of the sheer physical exhaustion from this battle- all of it is nothing compared to the fire searing through her body (all magic comes with a price, indeed).

"-ma! Emma!"

Somebody is screaming for her, somebody with a familiar voice, but she can't tell if it's Mary Margaret or David or Henry or even Regina (who came here with her? she can't seem to think). Whoever it is, they are running up behind her, their footfalls radiating along the thick veins of dirt raised by magic that fractured the green field along ugly brown fault lines. She manages to turn around, shuddering slightly when every movement aches like harsh fingers against a deep bruise. A breeze ruffles her hair, the syrupy-sweet scent of dying flowers mingling with the acrid tang of magic in the air, and she smiles in spite of herself. Victory.

"Swan!" A handsome face swims into view as the someone slams to a halt in front of her, blue eyes wide. "Are you-"

She sways on the spot and an arm catches her around the waist..

"Killian?" she manages, blinking rapidly as she attempts to regain her balance.

"Aye," he says, stepping closer as he tries to hold her upright. "Now hold on, lass, we need to get you to that terrifyingly competent mother of yours."

"'M fine," she whispers, the words barely dribbling across her cracked lips before they vanish into what is left of the grass. "My family, are they-"

"They're fine, but you are not. Your father is taking Henry back to town, and your mother is waiting for you. Do you think you can make it to the-"

Her knees give way completely and as Killian's other arm locks around her, the cool metal of his hook radiating through her thin shirt. She lets her eyes close as her head falls against his shoulder. His whole body freezes, and she hears his movements more than she feels his hand coming up to cradle her face.

"Open your eyes," he says roughly, taking care to gently tip her chin up to the light. "Swan. Emma, please."

And it's her name that does it, as much as his pleading tone, because as much as they love to tease and test each other with various monikers, he never uses her first name (her given name, which she clung to in her childhood like the other orphans clung to the tattered toys they brought everywhere- the part of her that her parents thought about and willingly bestowed, one of the only gifts that had been freely given to her before her arrival in Storybrooke) unless it is for something important. She manages to open her eyes just enough to see his face, which relaxes slightly as she meets his gaze.

"That's right, love, stay here with me," Killian continues, voice softening as he rubs his thumb across her cheek. "Gods, your skin is on fire."

"Price of the magic," she grits out, shuddering slightly as another wave of heat rolls across her skin. "Temporary, before you start with the shouting. Looked it up in- in Belle's book."

"What have you done to yourself?" he asks, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he struggles to keep his voice even.

"Just a- side effect, really. Channeling a lot of magic to destroy the pendent, more than I've ever- ever used. Has to all leave my body. Burns, though," she says, resting her head against his shoulder again.

"Gods, Emma," he says, swearing under his breath, "you should never-"

"No-" she cuts across him, pressing a palm against his chest, "I did what- what needed to be done."

He ignores her, sliding his free hand around her legs and scooping her up into his arms.

"'m not a child-" she protests, struggling feebly against him.

"It's not weakness to let someone help you, Emma. You'll never make it all the way back to your mother in this state."

She looks up at him, close enough now to see the fine lines of worry feathering the skin around his mouth and the deep purple bruises under his eyes.

"Thank you," she whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek and letting herself relax against his chest.

He manages a tiny wink, some of his old false bravado reasserting itself over the pinched fear in his face. "Anything for you, Lady Swan."


End file.
